Winning The War
by GoodlyWeird
Summary: After finding a newspaper article in the library James learns that the effects of war don't end when the bad-guy dies. Some father/son bonding. No slash. WARNING: This deals with self-harm and is potentially triggering. Please don't read if you think


**I don't own anything related to the Harry Potter empire, nor did I create any of the characters within. I write only for fun, and do not make any money from this exercise.**

**This is potentially triggering. If you feel it may affect you in that way please do not read it. I would hate to have hurt you in that manner.**

Edited 14/1/08 for grammer and spelling.

* * *

Winning the War

James hummed to himself with a deep feeling of self-satisfaction as he worked. The hours it would take him to clear up the library, without magic, were undoubtedly worth it. He couldn't wait to write to his Uncle George and tell him how well the prototype had worked.

Weasley's Wandering Whirlwind was the latest trial product that his favourite uncle had smuggled into Hogwarts for testing. James had planted it under the middle desk for maximum impact, and set it to go off during the O.W.L study group. After dinner he'd casually picked a corner desk and casually, convincingly, pretended to do his homework.

At seven o'clock the more studious members of all four houses had gathered and, to James immense delight, pushed the four central tables together. James could barely disguise his gleeful anticipation. Fifteen minutes later the whirlwind exploded on to the scene. All the carefully written notes were whipped into the air and swirled around, giving their indiscernible attacker form. Then it spiralled out from it's source, causing chaos as it went, making more than a few students wish that trousers were part of the uniform. It reached the book-lined walls and methodically ripped the carefully ordered shelves apart.

James was particularly proud of the destruction of some of the news-paper files. Archived Daily Prophets swirling violently around the room, the pages detaching from each other, before dropping randomly around the now shambolic library. That was his favourite part of the prank. Well, that and the glimpse of Denali Sastrowardoyo's racy red underwear.

Of course he'd been caught. It was a give away that, while every one else was flying round the library in a panic trying to preserve both their school work and their dignity, he'd been doubled up with laughter. It was unfortunate that Headmistress McGonagall hadn't seen the funny side, but his Uncle George always said that you should take your punishment with grace if it was truly deserved, and treat it like a badge of honour. After all the greater the punishment - the greater the prank.

That being said he'd been truly shocked by the ire of the O.W.L study group. It was only November after-all, what were they so stressed about? He had a feeling he'd have to watch his back around the 5th years for a little while to come. James decided it was definitely worth putting a trip jinx on his dormitory doorway that night.

Methodically James sorted everything into piles around the library. Sorting the notes into different handwriting styles, and the loose pages of Daily Prophets into piles according to date.

James picked up another front page and glanced at it to find out the date. He wasn't surprised to find a picture of his dad on the front cover, half the Prophets he'd come across today did. His dad, in addition to defeating Voldemort, was a successful auror and held a lot of influence in the Ministry. James had grown up seeing his father in the headlines.

As he put it on the respective pile he glanced at it once again, but this time the a large, bold questioning headline caught his attention. He turned his full attention to it and read.

Can Anyone Save the Saviour?

By Rita Skeeter.

Harry Potter was last night rushed to St Mungo's hospital in what is widely speculated to have been a suicide attempt. Shocked witches and wizards recounted how The Saviour was brought in by panicked friends unconscious, deathly pale, and covered in blood.

"It was awful!" Exclaimed Mrs Dorinda Leggett, with tears still running down her face. "This group apparated in and started screaming for a healer. That lovely boy was being carried by one of the younger Weasley boys, and let me tell you, I have never seen so much blood. From the look of him I could have sworn he was already dead."

Mr Flavio Salisbury, who was visiting his wife in St Mungo's gave a more detailed description of events. "As soon as the arrived the bushy-haired girl, Granger, screamed for a healer and they all came running. I think anyone would have. I'll never get the sound of her voice out of my head. The healer's run their wands over him and threw a few potions down his gullet, before rushing him into the lift."

Due to a reliable source within the hospital I can reveal that Harry was taken to a private room within the hospital, where a team of Healers continued to work on him for some time before he was declared as stable. My source, who I cannot name for legal reasons, confirmed that Harry was admitted with multiple self-inflicted wounds to his wrists.

"I can say with all certainty," My source confided. "That this is not the first time that Mr Potter has harmed himself."

This newspaper has reported before that Mr Potters strange behaviour since VD-Day seven months ago has been a constant concern for his friends and teachers. Reports from inside Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry have revealed his distant and detached demeanour since his return in September.

"He's like a shadow of himself," I was told by a clearly worried Dennis Creevey. "He's given up all the things he used to be so passionate about - even Quidditch. His friends have been trying, but they can't seem to reach him. I know they're really worried about Harry. I wish I could say that I was surprised by this, but I think we've all been expecting something to happen for a while now."

It is widely known now that Harry, willing to sacrifice himself to save the wizarding world, took a second killing curse. As the only person to ever have survived the worst of the Unforgivables even once, we must ask ourselves if this could have affected the man who was willing to give his life for us. In any case we must find a way to save him as he saved us, and I know all our dear readers will send their love and best wishes to our troubled liberator.

James stared at the last few words in shock. Slowly, without conscious thought, his eyes refocused onto the picture. There was no mistaking his dad, although it was obvious that this photograph was several years old. The hair was longer than James had ever known him to wear it and there was ragged stubble all over his chin. The eyes were the same vivid green behind round glasses. The same eyes that brought James so much comfort during his childhood.

He checked the date again. Twenty-fourth December nineteen ninety-eight. Years before James had been born. Before his parents had married. When they'd been at Hogwarts.

In the logical part of his mind James knew that his dad was fine. He'd received a letter from him just that morning, full of tales about Connla, his mum's new Crup puppy. James knew all this with absolute certainty, but the shock he'd experienced triggered a wave of panic that swept though him. All he wanted was his dad. To check that he was okay, happy, breathing. To be told that the awful Skeeter women was wrong, and that everything was okay.

James felt the tears on his cheeks but didn't make any move to try a sweep them away. The newspaper cover was clutched in his hands, but he couldn't recall when he had picked it up again. He needed to know this wasn't true. That his dad had never tried to do this.

He ran from the library towards Gryffindor Tower, pushing past startled students and ignoring the scandalised shouts from the portraits. Swerving to the left by the Portrait of the Fat Lady he continued the short way down the corridor to a plain oak door with a golden griffin knocker. The quarters for Gryffindor's Head of House. James pounded on the door.

As he waited for the door to open James tried to catch his breath. But between the tears and the physical exertion he found it impossible. A new wave of uncontrollable anxiety that he couldn't breathe washed over him with a sudden rush of dizziness.

"James?"

He felt strong arms lead him through the door and guide him onto the sofa. Footsteps walked away a short way before returning And all the time James was trying to fight for oxygen.

Professor Neville Longbottom crouched down in front of him and spoke in a soothing tone as he pressed a vial into his hand. "That's a calming draught James, I'd like you to drink it please and then try to take slow, steady breathes for me, okay?"

It was difficult to take the potion, hindered as he was by his laboured breathing, but he managed it. The results were quick, and enabled him to slow his breathing, even if the tears wouldn't stop. Neville was sat beside him on the sofa, rubbing his back in circles. James knew he was trying to comfort him but it was all wrong. He wanted his dad, and when his dad had done this it was in slower, larger circles than Neville was doing now.

As soon as he could manage it James gasped out, "I want my dad."

"Why do you want Harry, James? Can you tell me what's wrong?" Neville sounded a mixture of concerned and confused.

James thrust the newspaper cover that had been scrunched up in his fist, into Neville's hands. "Please, I want my dad," he sobbed, hating how pathetic his voice sounded. As he wrapped his arms around his torso trying to comfort himself, James listened to Neville flattening out the paper. There was silence for just a moment or two.

"You know James, this was a long time ago," Neville consoled quietly. " Your dad, he's fine now. You know that. There was a time when things were dark for him, but that was a long time ago."

Shaking his head as if trying to dispel the words James repeated, "I want my dad. Please, Neville, I want my dad." James hadn't even noticed that he'd slipped into calling his Professor by his first name.

The circles on his back resumed, and he felt, rather than saw, Neville lift his head and look towards the small bedroom. "Hannah, would you?"

James assumed she nodded as he swiftly heard the door open and close. They sat there, James still unable to escape the atrocious fear for his dad's safety, and Neville gently whispering words of comfort.

* * *

Harry lent back in his chair and rested a hand on his stomach in satisfaction. "That was lovely Ginny, thank-you. You know, I think you might be a better cook than your mum."

Ginny pushed herself up from her chair and gathered both of their plates, taking them towards the sink. "If you think, Harry Potter, that flattery will let me ignore you slipping Connla food under the table, you are sadly mistaken. You know he's to eat after we have. Otherwise he'll think that he's higher in the pack than he is, and that's just storing up trouble for the future…"

Harry held his hands up in surrender as he interrupted.. "I know, I know. You're right. But he has these big eyes that tell me he's hungry, and our dinner looks so much better than that dried biscuit stuff."

"Again with the flattery," she laughed, flopping into his lap. "You would think that you would have learned that won't work by now."

"No," he retorted with a wicked glint in his eye. "But this might." He captured her lips in his and felt her melt against him in her own surrender. Gently, he took her hand as he kissed her and stroked the sensitive spot on the inside of her wrist. She gasped with pleasure and Harry deepened the kiss.

"Umm, I hate to intrude…"

Shocked out of the moment they broke apart, although Ginny stayed defiantly in his lap. Harry thought that was rather a good thing for the moment.

"Hannah," Ginny said in a put-on disgruntled tone to the head in the fireplace. "What a lovely surprise. Please come through."

To Harry's surprise Hannah barely smiled, let alone let out the wide grin he'd been expecting. Hannah's serious mood infected the kitchen and Ginny's held gripped his hard in apprehension.

"What's wrong Hannah? Are the kids okay?" Ginny, like her mother was a worrier, and Harry could tell she was becoming alarmed. Fire-calls from Hogwarts were unusual. Any problems were usually dealt with by the staff, and the parents were informed of it after the fact, by owl. They had quite a collection of letters about James. Harry copied them and sent them to George for the shop wall.

"They're all fine physically. Don't panic." Harry had been auror long enough to notice when someone was avoiding the question. He hadn't missed the qualifying 'physically' either.

"Just say it Hannah," Harry almost commanded. "Don't dance around the point."

"James was in detention in the library tonight." Harry heard Ginny utter a barely audible groan, already expecting tomorrow's owl. "And he came across a newspaper from _that _Christmas." Harry closed his eyes with a pained expression. He had hoped, unrealistically, that his children would never find out about that time. "James wants you Harry. He's terribly distressed, even after a dose of calming draught."

Ginny squeezed his hand gently and smoothed his brow with the pad of her thumb before resting her forehead on his. Harry opened his eyes to find her eyes full of supportive warmth. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Harry shook his head gently. "No, thanks. This is something I should talk to him about alone."

After kissing at him gently on the lips she slid off his lap and pulled him out of the chair. "I'll see you in a later." He murmured to her before turning back to the fireplace. "I'm coming through now Hannah."

As soon as Hannah pulled her head out Harry stepped in and let the swirling floo take him. He saw glimpses of other lives as he travelled before landing firmly in Hogwarts reception grate, and strode out to follow Hannah to the quarters she shared with Neville.

Hannah paused before opening the door, and looked like she was about to say something. She must have thought better of it though as she simply shook her head sadly and opened the door.

Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd seen James in such a state, although he suspected it had been during a childhood nightmare. Of all his children James was the most self-sufficient, the strongest he supposed. To see him with a tear-tracked face, arms hugging himself and leaning towards Neville's tactile reassurance was an enormous shock. Harry felt his heart break.

He crossed the room in two strides and fell to his knees in front of his eldest son, before gathering James into his arms and pulling him onto his lap. "It's alright Jamie," he whispered, automatically using the nickname from toddler-hood. "It's alright. I'm here. Everything is fine now."

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, but didn't turn his attention from his child. "Harry, Hannah and I are going to finish up in the library. We'll let you two have some privacy."

"Thanks Neville," Harry said gratefully, still in the low, calming tone he had been using with James. "I'll see you later."

The hand squeezed his shoulder and left, moments later the door opened and closed, and Harry resumed his verbal comfort. All the time he stroked James back in large, slow circles and rocked back and forth slightly.

Over the next ten minutes James' sobs slowed until they were only involuntary hiccups. With red cheeks he extracted himself from Harry's lap and sat back on Neville's battered leather sofa.

Harry smiled his reassurance and squatted down in front of James. "Do you want to talk about what you read?"

"Is it true?" James asked in a small voice, as if unsure of the answer. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Harry smiled sadly, "Yes James, it's true. I…"

Before Harry could say anything he was rocked back by James' anger, falling backwards onto his bum as his furious son stood over him.

"HOW COULD YOU? HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO MUM? OR UNCLE RON AND AUNT HERMIONE? HOW COULD YOU BE SO… SELFISH? DIDN'T YOU THINK WHAT THEY WOULD DO WITHOUT YOU? OR DID YOU JUST NOT CARE?"

Harry calmly picked himself up off the floor during his son's rant. With black humour he said, "Your mum's right, you are like Ron." He turned to face his son, and saw the tips of his ears were flaming. "I harmed myself James, I admit to that. I didn't try to kill myself. I don't know what was in the paper, I've never read any from that time, but I didn't try to take my own life."

The energy seemed to rush out of James as the anger left, leaving only weary confusion. "Then why, Dad? I don't understand."

"I'll try to explain then. Why don't we sit comfy?" Harry wrapped an arm around James' shoulders and guided him back onto the sofa, nestled against him. Harry held him tight as he spoke.

"After the war everything seemed… unreal. I couldn't feel anything at all. At first I thought it was just shock, a natural reaction. After all, it had all ended so suddenly. I thought the numbness would fade, but it didn't. Time went by and instead of getting better, it got worse. I felt like I was in a dream, just drifting, with nothing to anchor me to reality. I'd go through the motions of everyday existence, but nothing seemed solid.

"Then, one day, I tripped over. It had been happening increasingly often as grew more and more disconnected, but this time I grazed my hands on the gravel, and I felt the pain. Over two months of feeling nothing and then this, admittedly uncomfortable, sensation pulled me back into the universe. I felt as if I existed again. It faded as quickly as it came but it left behind the memory of being able to feel, and that was enough for a while.

"But within a weak the overwhelming nothingness was back, and I felt like it was going to swallow me whole. And I remembered the pain had forced it back. The pain had tethered me to the world for a little while and so all I needed was to hurt again. Now, I couldn't throw myself violently to the floor, someone would notice that, question that, so I used a shallow cutting curse on my wrist. Where no-one could see it."

Harry had been so deep in his monologue that he had almost forgotten his reason for telling it. That was, until James spoke up.

"But why did you want to hide it? Why didn't you tell anyone? If you felt so badly that you'd hurt yourself why didn't you ask for help?"

"Because I didn't know how."

James pulled away so that he could look his dad in the eye. "What do you mean?"

Harry sighed, he hadn't wanted to get into this, but it was all mixed in. This should have been about after the war, not before, but there were no clear edges. Life wasn't a series of nice filed events. It was more like a big cauldron where everything was thrown in to make a potion where none of the original ingredients were easy to discern.

"When I was growing up, before Hogwarts, I didn't have people I could turn to. My parents weren't there, through no fault of their own, and I was a burden and nuisance to the people I lived with. They saw to my basic physical needs, but there was no… Support, comfort I suppose. They weren't the sort of people I could even think of turning to like that, not the way you kids can turn to your mum and me.

"So I just got on with it. Even when I came to Hogwarts and had your Aunt and Uncle with me every step of the way, I didn't talk about things like that." He saw a look of confusion cross James face and clarified. "Oh, I could tell them about Voldemort's latest attempt to kill me, or that years mystery in the school, but not about the emotions attached to it. I couldn't even contemplate doing that, so I didn't.

"Then after the war it was such a mess. It hadn't been a clean end, so many people were killed in that time. Many on the very day Voldemort died. I watched everyone around me hurting, fighting so hard to pull their lives back together. Even if I knew how to say what was going on with me, how could I add to their troubles?"

"You're so dense Dad, I swear." James said as he slumped heavily back into Harry. "I bet they were worried out of their minds about you. The paper it said they'd already reported your odd behaviour before, and one guy said your friends had been concerned about you for months. I mean, seriously Dad, how thick are you?"

Harry snorted and quipped, "Very thick - ask your mother." Then, growing serious again he added, "Now, I know how frantic they were, but at the time I couldn't see it. Hindsight always has an owls vision James. I thought I was protecting them, and I was coping by hurting myself whenever I the detachment became to scary."

"That's messed up Dad," James said with the easy acceptance of adolescence.

"Yes, it is, very.

"Then came that night. It was the night before Christmas Eve and I was staying with your grandparents. It was a huge do. All the Weasleys, the Grangers, Andromenda, Teddy, and Aunt Muriel…" James made a disgusted face at the name of his least favourite relative and Harry laughed slightly. "Everyone was revelling in each others company, making toasts to remember those who couldn't physically be with us, and I felt like I was watching a play. And I knew I should be feeling something other than the sense of surrealism. Instead there was just this yawning hole and I was certain that I would disappear into it. I grew anxious, almost panicky. I needed to feel the pain so I knew that I was still here, but getting anywhere alone would be difficult."

Harry paused. Over the last few sentences his voice had become thick with emotion. This wasn't a time he visited often, or willingly, but he had to do this for his son. To let him understand what had happened.

"You obviously did find somewhere…" James prompted, his own voice suspiciously heavy.

"Yes, I did," Harry continued. "Hours later, extremely desperate for it, I settled on the bench in the back garden. But I was so fraught and anxious I just cast the spell on my wrist without thought, and then twice more. I had used the curse at almost full strength and it cut into the artery all three times, as well as some tendons, and a pretty major nerve. The pain was excruciating and, as crazy as it sounds, there was such a sense of relief. If I could feel pain like this then I must be alive, I must exist."

Harry stopped again as his sons body began to shake with repressed sobs. He squeezed James tight. "Do you want me to stop James? You don't have to listen to this."

"No." In spite of the tears James' voice was powerful. "I need to know what happened Dad. Tell me."

"There's not much to tell now. As the pain faded I opened my eye's and saw the blood. I knew I'd cut too deep, but my mind was already becoming befuddled and I couldn't think what to do about it. I tried pressing down on it, but it didn't stop, and I started feeling very dizzy. That's the last thing I remember. Your mum told me I fainted and hit my head just as they came out to look for me.

"The next thing I know I'm in St Mungo's on suicide watch, with a large family of red heads completely furious with me, and your Aunt Hermione buried in a psychology book on self-harm."

"What happened then? Do you still do it now? Don't you feel anything for Al, Lils and me?"

If Harry thought that his heart had broken when he walked into Neville's rooms that evening, he was wrong. That was nothing compared to the pain this quiet, almost calm, question brought to him. He crushed James into him as tight as he possibly could and brought his forehead to rest on the dark red mop of hair. Tears leaked from Harry's eyes, but he kept his voice steady as he spoke, "Jamie, I feel so deeply for you kids. All of you. From the moment I found out your mum was pregnant I loved each of you more than I thought was possible. Please, don't doubt that for a minute. Okay?"

He felt James nod from within the almost suffocatingly tight embrace. "Okay Dad, I know.

"So, you're better?"

"Yeah, for a long time now," Harry confirmed loosening the hug but not letting go. "It took a while. Uncle Ron shouted at me for almost two days before I managed to convince him I didn't want to die. Then came the difficult part, I had to start talking. They set me up with a mind healer in St Mungo's who I had to see twice a week. And Uncle Ron shadowed me for months, and I do mean shadowed. I had to surrender my wand each night and sleep with the bed hangings open, and I always had to have someone with me. He even followed me to the loo."

"You're kidding!" James exclaimed, looking up as if to find the exaggeration in his dad's face.

"No, I'm not Jaime." Harry said with a fond smile. "He wouldn't let me out of his sight. You're mum, she saved my sanity. She'd rescue me from your Uncle Ron and take me out to the tree by the lake, but with her own agenda. She made me talk. About everything. And slowly, I got better."

"Did you ever want to do it again?"

Harry was still smiling, but slightly sadly now. "In the early days. I never had any opportunities though, and there were times I was so determined that they had to physically restrain me. Even as I said some awful things to them.

"I'm a very lucky man Jamie, to have the wonderful people around me that I do. And that makes you a very lucky person too." He gave James one more quick squeeze before releasing him, and moving so he could look his eldest in the eye. "Are you okay James? This has been quite a night for you."

James smiled through his tear-stained swollen face. "I'm fine. You know I love you, right?"

"I've never doubted it for one moment," Harry grinned. "Come on, shall we get you cleaned up."

* * *

It was well past mid-night when Harry flooed back into his kitchen. James was staying in the hospital wing for the night, just so he could take some Dreamless Sleep, and Harry stayed with him until it took effect. Harry had stayed an extra hour as well, just so he could watch his son sleep, something he rarely had chance to do anymore.

He wasn't surprised to find Ginny sat in the kitchen waiting for him, despite the late hour. Harry doubted she had left the kitchen since he'd gone to Hogwarts. Ginny rose to greet him with a kiss on his cheek, before pushing him into a chair and resuming her place on his lap. This didn't surprise Harry either. It was how they had most of their discussions. He was pretty sure it started as a way to stop him bodily avoiding uncomfortable subjects, but now it was comforting in it's familiarity.

"How'd it go?" Ginny asked softly, brushing the hair just above his right ear tenderly with her thumb.

"As well as can be expected. How did he get Ron's temper?"

"'Cause it couldn't be yours, could it? You were always so calm." She said with amusement. "Shouted, did he?"

"Only a little bit.

"Actually, he was very grown-up and understanding about it. Asked a lot of hard questions though. And he reminded me of how lucky I am. Thank-you Ginny."

Harry watched as Ginny's brow furrowed in confusion. "For what?"

"For everything you did for me back then," He told her, trying to express all his gratitude in what seemed like inadequate, meaningless words. "I don't think I ever thanked any of you, and I should have done."

He knew Ginny understood as her eyes brimmed with emotion. Then she cuffed him round the head, smiling fondly. "You have nothing to thank us for, idiot. You would have done the same for any of us. Have saved each of us one way or the other. It was our turn.

"And don't even think of thanking Ron, he'll hex you."

* * *

"In some cases the self abuser feels so extremely alienated from life that physical pain is the only way they seem to feel alive." - Allan Schwartz, Ph.D.

"A few people who self-harm may go on to commit suicide - generally this is not what they intend to do. In fact, self-harm can be seen as the 'opposite' of suicide as it is often a way of coping with life rather than of giving up on it." - selfharm (dot0 org .uk

Hi everybody,

The quotes above are what inspired this one-shot and I thought I'd include them. Please feel free to review in what ever manner you choose, I'll even accept flames, and I promise to reply to everyone personally.

Hope you enjoyed,

Pheobe. X


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